4. Hearing "no" without falling apart
Seneca had firm views about how children's tempers are formed. "Nothing makes children more prone to anger than a soft and fond bringing-up," he wrote. "He to whom nothing is ever denied, will not be able to endure a rebuff" (Of Anger 2.21).
Many people who grew up in the 1960s and 70s remember "no" as a common answer, often without much explanation. That wasn't always kind or fair. But hearing it often may have made it feel ordinary rather than catastrophic.
Adults face plenty of refusals: a job that goes to someone else, a request turned down, a plan that falls through. A useful habit is to notice your first reaction to a small "no" and give it a minute before responding. "That's disappointing. What's my next move?" is usually more useful than the first thing that comes to mind.
5. Sorting out disagreements without a referee
In the same passage, Seneca gave advice about children's games. When a boy competes with his friends, "let us see that he be on friendly terms with those whom he contends with, so that in the struggle itself he may learn to wish not to hurt his antagonist but to conquer him" (2.21).
Many people remember street games with no adults involved. Kids made up the rules, argued over whether a ball was in or out, and settled it themselves, because the alternative was ending the game. Those arguments weren't always fair, and some kids got pushed around. But many children got regular practice at negotiating, compromising and playing on with someone they'd just argued with.
The adult version is trying to resolve a disagreement directly before escalating it. A calm opener helps: "I think we see this differently. Can we work out something that works for both of us?"
6. Going without comfort
Seneca contrasted two kinds of parental love, in the gendered terms of his time. One kind pushes children to start their tasks early and work until they sweat. The other wants to "keep them out of the sun, and never wish them to be vexed, or to cry, or to work." He thought the first kind built strength: "Unbroken prosperity cannot bear a single blow" (Of Providence 2).
Many people remember walking to school in the rain, sitting in hot cars without air conditioning and patching their own scraped knees. Nobody would call that a philosophy. But it made small discomforts familiar, which is close to what Seneca's practice aims at. After a few days of plain living, he told Lucilius, "you will leap for joy when filled with a pennyworth of food" (Letter 18.7).
